


carrion flowers

by smologan



Series: nightmare [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Dreamon, M/M, Stabbing, au where george is actually involved in lore, basically im sad so you should be too, is there a tag for dreamon? im gonna tag dreamon, ive had this in my brain for forever, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smologan/pseuds/smologan
Summary: “We’ll need some kind of distraction. Something to keep it occupied while the rest of us get to work finding that book and getting rid of it.” Wilbur turned sheepish as he glanced over at George.George’s face flared red as his blush extended to his ears and neck, “I… what? You want me to….”-A return. A revelation. A ritual.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: nightmare [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134521
Comments: 34
Kudos: 126





	carrion flowers

**Author's Note:**

> please don't forget to look at all the tags before reading.  
> written before everyone decided to advance the plot or sumn without my permission (aka written before the events of January 16, 2021 and January 20, 2021).  
> the amazing @kivy_ on twitter made [this beautiful design](https://twitter.com/kivy_/status/1361762209685118976?s=20) for the fic!

Somehow, everything got worse when Wilbur came back from the dead. Everyone wondered which Wilbur would come back: the bright-eyed leader of L’Manberg, the mad-eyed betrayer who blew up L’Manberg, or someone completely different. All of those worries and concerns were thrown out the window the moment that Wilbur, freshly revived, still lying on the ground of the shrine, opened his mouth. 

“Dream…” 

Everyone exchanged glances in confusion. Phil bent down beside his son on the blue woolen floor. He helped Wilbur sit up, angling his body to prop him up. “Dream? What about Dream?” 

Wilbur’s eyes were wide with nothing short of terror as he stared into Phil’s eyes. “Dream… Dream isn’t Dream.”

“Wil, shh, calm down. You’re not making sense.” Phil looked up at the crowd surrounding them, each of whom stared back down with worried expressions. The same question seemed evident in all their gazes: Had something gone wrong with the ritual?

“Dream…” Wilbur rose to his feet, struggling to regain his balance. After all, he had just come back to life after months of being trapped...elsewhere. “I-I spoke to him. He-he’s stuck...in...wherever I was. He’s stuck there with Schlatt.”

Sapnap piped up from the back of the group. “Wilbur, we were just with him. What are you talking about?” He crossed his arms over his chest in a casual manner, though his eyes betrayed his cool posture. 

“That wasn’t Dream, Sapnap,” Wilbur laughed quietly as he shook his head. “Dream was-was possessed, or, or, or taken over or... something. By a demon. The Dream you’ve all been talking to this whole time? It’s the demon. It has to be.”

Sapnap laughed derisively. “Yeah, okay, Wil. I think you’re still a bit messed up in the head from, you know, being dead.” 

Bad held up his hand to silence Sapnap without looking at him, keeping his eyes on Wilbur. “No. No, it… it makes sense. Doesn’t it?” He turned to face everyone gathered around the shrine. “When Dream helped create this world, he swore there was to be no griefing, no stealing, no conflict. Remember? Sapnap, George, you were there.” He gestured between the two friends, the ones closest to Dream. 

“But, but this--” Bad gestured to the crater they all stood in, the crumbling ruins of L’Manberg’s final hours. “This is the opposite of everything that Dream, _our_ Dream, would stand for. Yeah?”

“But, Bad…” Sapnap scoffed. “A demon?”

Bad stared at Sapnap for a moment with an incredulous look. “Sapnap… I’m a demon, you muffin.”

“Well, yeah, but you’re not like… a _demon_ demon.” 

Wilbur piped up, cutting off what would have been a brewing spiff. “Look, I know I’m not the most trustworthy right about now,” he said, pouring conviction into his words. “But I talked to Dream. In the… fucking… I don’t know, Underworld or whatever. And he’s trapped _there_ and the demon is _here_.”

There had never been a silence that yelled louder than in that moment, when everyone took in the situation at hand. George and Sapnap shared weighty looks as they tried to process what their best friend had become, somehow without their notice. Tommy looked to Tubbo, eyes wide as if he had reached some sort of revelation about the weeks prior to this day, remembering the way Dream reveled in the chaos as TNT rained down upon them. Ranboo… Ranboo looked sick. 

“What are we supposed to do, Wil?” Phil looked to his son, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder in comfort. 

“Dream… he mentioned some kind of, of, like, ritual or something. Something he managed to keep from the demon before it… took over, or whatever. He said,” Wilbur searched out Tommy’s eyes and held the stare, “he said it’s under your house, Tommy.”

“M-my, my house?” Tommy laughed uncomfortably. “I-I think I would know if-if-if Dream fuckin’ put a fuckin’ demon ritual or some shit under my fuckin’ house.”

“That’s just what he said, Tommy. He said it’s under your house.”

“If Dream had a ritual, why didn’t he use it?” Phil wondered aloud. 

Wilbur let out a deep sigh as he rubbed at his forehead. “He… he mentioned something about the demon knowing… that if he had done the ritual by himself then it would know something was up. It was too dangerous.” 

“Then if we try it, then Dr-- that _thing_ will know what we’re up to. What are we supposed to do?” Phil swallowed the lump in his throat, still struggling to process the facts laid before him. 

“We’ll need some kind of distraction. Something to keep it occupied while the rest of us get to work finding that book and getting rid of it.” Wilbur turned sheepish as he glanced over at George. 

George’s face flared red as his blush extended to his ears and neck, “I… _what_? You want me to….” 

“Well, George, you are kind of the one closest to… it. I mean,” Bad winced, “I mean it does kind of make sense for you to be one to be the distraction.”

“You’re just so pretty, Georgie, he can’t resist,” Sapnap joked, trying to lighten the heavy weight that had settled over the group. 

No one laughed. 

“I’m not… I’m not going to hang around a fucking _demon_ parading around in my best friend’s skin,” George squirmed away from the small group gathered there. 

“George, please. It’s the only way to get him back. We all want him back, please,” Bad pleaded, reaching out a hand of comfort to George, who refused to take it, only closing in on himself further. 

Sapnap approached him slowly, knowing that if anyone could convince George to do this, it would be him. “George, it’s Dream. _Our_ Dream. Please. I know it’s a lot but… we’ll get him back. He– he was always there for us, in the beginning. Remember...” he paused, a half-hearted smile forming on his face. “Remember when we were building the community house, before all of this? How simple everything was, yeah? We could – we could get that back, George. But… but it’s gotta be you. I mean, you know it and I know it.” The reminiscent smile faded. “The demon latched onto you, George, and we both know why. It was always you, for Dream. You’re the only one who could distract it long enough to get him back. And then... and then it’ll be the three of us again.”

George looked around at everyone looking back in desperation. He knew that he and Dream – that he and the _demon_ had grown closer and if anyone could distract it, he would have to be the one. His throat clicked as he swallowed down the fear, the doubt, the confusion. “Yeah,” he muttered, barely audible. “Yeah, okay.” 

There were no sighs of relief or congratulations. Only silence as everyone watched George, hearts heavy, knowing only the barest fraction of the turmoil churning inside him. 

“Then it’s settled,” Wilbur sighed loudly. “George you go find… it… and we’ll go searching for the ritual. If everything goes right, then… George, you’ll meet us back here. With the _real_ Dream.” He turned from the group then and began to set out for the edge of the crater, Phil and Tommy and Tubbo and the rest of them following behind closely. 

All of them but Sapnap. He stayed there with George. Neither looking at each other. Both staring at the ruins that surrounded them. Ruins that demon created. 

“How did we not know, George?” Sapnap spoke after a while, his voice broken. 

“I don’t know, Sapnap.” George bit his lip hard, trying with every bit of him to keep back the hot tears threatening to spill over. 

“We were supposed to be his best friends… and we never noticed.” Sapnap lowered himself to the bedrock, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“No… no, we didn’t.” 

“Why… why didn’t he just tell us? Dream, I mean. If he _knew_ this thing was coming for him, why didn’t he just fucking tell us?” Sapnap grew angry now, the confusion boiling over. He dug his nails into the skin of his palms, leaving red half-moon marks. 

George didn’t answer. The thoughts piling in his brain were too loud to bring them to the surface. His heart beat faster, his chest rose and fell heavier, his throat felt tight. In his silent suffering, George felt broken. _All this time,_ he thought. _All this time he thought he had… something._ Instead he had been fooled just like everyone else. 

Sapnap rose after a few more agonizing moments of silence and placed his hand on George’s shoulder. “If anyone can do this, it’s you.” Then, like everyone else, Sapnap left. 

George’s head pounded from the effort it took to keep it all in. He just wanted to break down. Cry. Scream. Punch _something_. Sapnap was right. How did he not know? How did he not know? How did he watch his best friend, the person he was closest to in this world, slip away and become possessed? Were there signs? Did Dream try to tell George and he just didn’t listen? Did Dream even try to tell him? 

George swallowed the rising nausea and forced it down. It didn’t matter now, he supposed. The only thing that mattered now was that George helped get Dream back. He climbed out of the ruins of L’Manberg, headed towards home. He didn’t need to search out the demon, it always seemed to find him, wherever he was. George had always thought that it was Dream just wanting to hang out, wanting to be with him. Knowing that the demon always came to George now left a sick feeling in his mouth. 

George closed the door to his home with a quiet click of the lock. 

“Hey, Georgie,” a voice called from behind him. George whirled around, heart thundering in his chest from the sudden presence he hadn’t expected yet. 

George feigned a smile, staring longer at the thing in front of him than he probably should. But now that he knew, everything about him seemed… wrong. The demon holding his hands behind its back with perfect posture, exuding a confidence that George once found endearing. A striking smile that George now noticed didn’t reach its eyes. Cold eyes. Eyes that were _not_ his Dream’s. _How could George not have known something was wrong?_

“Dream, you-you scared me… I...didn’t expect you to be here,” George smiled again, trying to play things cool. _Play. It. Cool. Don’t let anything on. Everything’s okay._

“I wanted to surprise you,” the demon smiled back. He pulled George out of the hallway into the small gathering room and slid itself cooly into the small sofa. It stretched its arms out on the back of the couch, looking up expectantly for George to sit beside him. George did so, attempting to make himself small, keeping himself from the small touches he would usually allow himself when he thought it was Dream. 

“Well, you definitely surprised me…” George chuckled, attempting to mask his burgeoning discomfort with bright tones in his voice. “How’ve you been? Keeping yourself busy?”

“Ah, you know,” the demon smiled coyly, reaching a hand up to drag through shoulder-length hair. “I know Tommy’s preparing... something. Won’t amount to much,” it laughed. “But still would like to know what to look forward to.”

George shifted in his seat, pulling his knees up on the sofa. He briefly thought of Tommy now: _would everyone still be looking under his house for the ritual? Had they found it yet? Had they started? Would they even figure out how to do it?_

“Yeah, I mean, you’ve still got both discs. But I would imagine they’re gonna take some time, you know?” George stared down at his lap. “They did just kinda lose everything.”

George felt warm, gentle fingers reach under his chin and lift his head up. He stared into the demon’s eyes. The same green… but cold, too cold. 

“Don’t forget, George,” Dream said. “They did this to you, too.” George’s mind flashed back to finding the ash and ruins of his own home, months ago. The burnt planks of wood, the smoldering mushroom. 

The fingers on his skin felt so comforting, so warm, and that growing unease morphed into something like fear. George pulled back from the demon’s touch and quickly rose to his feet. “Do you, uh, want any water or anything? I was out most of the day and I’m kinda thirsty.” He wiped his nervous, sweaty palms on the front of his pants and turned to walk to the kitchen. He heard the demon rise from the sofa and the footsteps following him. 

George took the time looking away to compose himself, right himself. He inhaled deep in his nose, let the air fill his lungs deep, and released softly through his mouth. He grabbed two small cups from the cupboard beside him and dipped them in the water basin. As he turned to deliver one of the cups to the demon, he paused as its face contorted in pain for a moment. The demon lifted its hand to its forehead, rubbing at the skin. “Dream, are you okay?” George asked with serious concern, forgetting momentarily what he was facing, thinking it was his Dream before him. 

As quickly as the pain seemed to appear, it faded with an easy smile. “Of course. Just random headaches. They come and they go.” The demon reached out to take the cup, brushing fingers against George’s. If George hadn’t known any better he would have said it was an accident. Still, the blush crept its way to George’s cheek as he pulled back quickly. 

“You know, Georgie, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you.” The demon took a step toward George, eyes pouring into his own. 

“T-Thanked me? For what?” He knew this was the demon. He knew this wasn’t Dream. But his heart wasn’t beating faster because of the fear, it was the energy. 

The demon slid next to George, resting his body against the wooden counters. “For being so good to me… for being so loyal.” 

George’s body froze up. His grip on his cup turned his knuckles white as he brought it to his lips, seeking the relief of the cold water on his lips. 

“You know, I don’t think I asked… where’d you go today? I was here for quite a while before you came back.” The demon took a sip from his cup before setting it down beside him and fixing his gaze solely on George. 

It didn’t matter that George had just taken a drink, his mouth felt like he had inhaled sand. “Oh! Oh, yeah, I…” _Come on, George. Think. Don’t fuck this up. Hesitating will make him suspicious._ “I talked to Sapnap. We were trying to rebuild the community house… You know… All those memories…” Half-truths. He did talk to Sapnap. He had planned on rebuilding the community house… before everything. 

The demon nodded, his lips pursed together. “That’s a good idea. We should visit it tonight. See how much progress you and Sapnap made on it.”

 _Uh-oh._ George took another large drink from his cup, hoping to coat the scratch in his throat. “I mean, we-we definitely didn’t get very far. I don’t even know if you’d even notice a difference, yknow?” 

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look, right, Georgie?”

“Y-Yeah… I suppose not.” Fuck. He just had to hold off on them leaving and George being caught in his lie until everyone else could take care of the ritual. _But how long would that take?_

As George looked away to place his now empty cup behind him, he heard a sharp inhale and a groan from beside him. His head shoots around to see the demon clutching his temples, fisting his hair in his fingers. 

“Dream!” George gasped and reached out for him. He grasped the demon’s elbows, concern etching into his forehead at the sight of him in pain. _Fuck, George. Stop it. This isn’t Dream._ But he was supposed to be fooling the demon. This is how he would react before, right? 

The demon dropped its hands and threw its head back to inhale deeply. “Fuck,” it whispered. It turned its gaze back to George, pain releasing from its features, the smile back where it had been before. The demon sighed heavily, reaching to place a hand on George’s cheek, holding his face gently. 

“Oh, Georgie.” The smile on the demon’s face grew wider, and it no longer looked comforting. It was a sickening grin, plastic and cruel. It began to scare George down to his very core. 

“Oh, Georgie,” the demon whispered this time, leaning in. Closer and closer. George stood frozen on his feet. All he had ever wanted was to be this close to Dream. But not like this. 

George prepared to be brought closer to the demon, eyes fluttering shut. And that’s when everything began to feel _hot_. A searing fire like nothing George had ever experienced raced through his chest and out through his entire body. 

His eyes shot open to the demon’s face contorted in that still wicked grin. But there was pain behind his cold eyes. George looked down between their bodies, still so close, the sight before him stealing a soft gasp from his mouth. The demon’s hand, the long, slender fingers, wrapped tightly around the hilt of the knife angled up, deeply embedded _in his chest_. The crimson seeping through the blue of George’s shirt, the stain blossoming faster than he would have thought possible. 

“You had me for a moment, Georgie. You had me… I’ll give you that. But if I’m going down, I’m fuckin’ taking you down with me,” the demon gritted through its teeth, twisting the knife further into George, pushing the held breath from his lips. 

“H-how did you…?” George stuttered out, wrapping his own hands around the hilt of the blade, surrounding the demon’s fingers. The pain was like a thousand sharp needles, his body screaming as it began to shut down on him. 

The demon’s breath became short -- shallow and labored -- as it stared down at George. A trickle of blood began flowing from its nose as it snarled, “You think you all could fucking kill me without me finding out? It may be too late for me, but oh, I’ll take my piece.” 

The sheer fury in the demon’s gaze seared into George’s fearful, wide eyes. It sputtered as it struggled to stay in control, stay in power. The demon shut its eyes hard in concentration as George watched in terror. 

When the eyes opened again, George was struck by the sudden _warmth_ that flooded them. Eyes that suddenly looked like comfort again, like home. The astonishment George felt pushed a soft breath from his mouth, incredulous. “Dream?” 

“George?” Dream’s voice came as an exhale, astounded as he stood before George, inches away. _He was back. Dream was back._

And then he took in the scene around him. Peered down at the hands circling his fingers, clasped around the leather hilt of the knife. A knife driven into George’s heart. “George…”

The dam that had been building within George burst, sending burning tears down his face, stinging his cheeks. The joy and the fear swirling inside him like a ravaging storm. George reached up to grab on to Dream’s shoulder, seeking support. His knees felt weak, so weak. 

“George… George…” Dream whispered, his voice a quiet plea. His mouth could form no other word, just _George_. 

As George began to crumple to the floor, Dream fell to his knees with him, cradling his body in his arms. “George, George, George.” _Please, please not like this. Not like this. He just got back._

A quivering hand, coated in blood, reached up to cup Dream’s cheek. He grasped it fiercely, holding it against his face. George opened his mouth to whisper his name, let Dream know it was okay, but blood began to rise in his throat and he choked on the metallic taste. He wanted to close his eyes, blink away the tears that flooded his vision, but he held on. His gaze never leaving Dream’s eyes. Eyes that were soft once more. Eyes he wanted to be his last sight.

The hand Dream had been holding went slack. Dream watched as eyes that had been telling him _everything_ fell silent. An anguished wail broke from his lips as he pulled George’s body closer to him, holding him tightly to his chest. Chanting his name softly as if that would bring him back. 

But there was nothing. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> LLF Comment Builder
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> This author replies to comments.
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!
> 
> ugh of course dream would burn down tommy's house the day after i wrote this and they put dream in prison while i was editing .  
> my deepest thanks to anyone who actually read this. it means the world to me.  
> follow me on twitter!! @mshroomcat


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